That Which Survives
by ElsieJo
Summary: Post-"Resolutions", Chakotay needs some help moving on. J/C all the way baby, a little dark but with a happy ending.


**A/N:** This takes place right after "Resolutions" and is (kind of) a companion piece to "What Temporal Prime Directive?" - in that it takes place in the same universe (we're assuming they went all the way down there on New Earth; those crazy kids). I told this story from Tom's POV in "WTPD?" but you needn't any of that background knowledge to understand this piece. It's 100% stand-alone.

So, here is the same scene from Chakotay's POV. (: Now that this is out of my system, I can get back to the ridiculousness I so enjoy writing.

**Disclaimer:** Paramount owns these people, I'm just letting them out of the vault to stretch their legs. And the title doesn't belong to me either... it's the title of an episode of TOS. (I can't help myself.)

* * *

**THAT WHICH SURVIVES**

I don't know if my plan will lessen my pain or augment it, yet I am certain it must be done. Something inside of me is telling me that if I don't, then the memories I so cherish today – that play with such absolute clarity when I close my eyes – will blur and fade with the passing of time. This is an unfortunate side-effect of the weaknesses of our human brains. I find it interesting how time molds our perceptions, and how the brain responds to trauma – either physical or emotional. Often, when a memory is painful enough, our brains will shut it out all together. I have no idea how that works, but she would know.

A small part of me wishes for this defensive amnesia, but the greater part of me begs to hold on to the time we spent together, alone, on that beautiful planet. Idly, I wonder if the planet was actually that beautiful, or if it was simply reflecting her.

So, to save these memories, to lock them down for eternity, I will execute my plan – though, at this precise moment, it feels equally as counter-productive as ripping the scab from a healing wound. However, I know, should the day arrive when I call upon my memories and find them distant, faded, incomplete – I would mourn, and regret the actions I failed to take today because I deemed them too painful to endure. It must be done now, while my memories are still fresh, vivid – while the wound is still bleeding

The doors swoosh open and Tom Paris enters. He has no idea why I have called him here today, and that has resulted in an apprehension that plays loudly over his features. I smile internally – though it does not reach my lips and I doubt it shows in my eyes – as I wonder if Tom thinks he's in trouble. While we've come a long way since the beginning of our trip, we're still far from friends – which makes this request awkward for me and has resulted in the uncertainty in Tom's eyes.

Despite this, I know he is the only one who can help me with my project.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Paris," I say with practiced ease, though inside I am terrified that as soon as I begin working, the few intact pieces of my heart – the ones she didn't take with her – will shatter completely.

"Of course, Commander," replies Tom. "How can I be of service?"

I motion for him to sit at one of the consoles, and he does. "This is a personal request, so you may feel free to decline."

Instantly, his eyes brighten with curiosity and he nods. "What is it?"

"I want to create a holo-environment. Of the planet we just left."

Tom's brow furrows slightly. "Planet M32647?"

_New Earth,_ I wish to correct – but I know our name is irrelevant to the task at hand. "Yes," I say instead.

I can tell he is taken aback by the request and a thought crosses my mind that I hadn't considered before, and I move immediately to counteract it. "The captain and I are very thankful to be back aboard _Voyager_," I assure him quickly, "but three months is a long time. We–_I_ grew kind of attached to our–_the_ planet. It was almost like… an extended shore leave. I would like to preserve it."

I watch Tom carefully. I'm hoping this explanation will be enough to satisfy his curiosity – though I know he won't pry or push me, even if it isn't. He has become a fine officer. I would never have imagined that of him. Kathryn—_Captain Janeway_ did, though. She reached right into his spirit and lit the candle that had burned out long ago.

_She lit all our candles_, I think as I hand over my PADDs of data to Tom. Sometimes I imagine what our dimension looks like to the spirit world, and when I imagine _Voyager_ I imagine, amid the inky blackness of space, a cluster of a hundred and sixty shimmering lights. The brightest one, the one boldly leading the way, the one that took its flame and spread it throughout the cluster of light – that's her.

Sometimes I fool myself into thinking that it was just me – that her ability to light the darkness, to bring peace to turbulence, was a concentrated effort… as her effect on me was immediate, and it was powerful. I can't fool myself for long, though, as the evidence of all the lives she's touched surrounds me.

I am just one of many.

Tom is all business as he works and I wonder if he can sense the unrest underneath my composed exterior or if he is simply too focused on his task to speak. Regardless, I am grateful for the silence that has fallen over us. I don't trust myself to talk about our experiences on the planet, not yet. I'm not sure if I ever will.

We've been back for a little over two weeks, and each day seems to be more and more painful. The heartbreak isn't lessening, as it should. I suppose a part of me hopes this project will bring some degree of closure, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to move on, not unless we move on together. That's what hurts the most; not being torn from the planet, but being torn from her. I miss her. My whole body misses her. She's more distant now than she was at the beginning of our journey, and I think – no, I know that I would happily trade the three months we spent together, the barriers we broke, the feeling of her skin on… well, I would trade all of that just to have her back as she was before: my friend.

We haven't had dinner once in two weeks.

For months, we ate every breakfast, lunch, dinner – and the occasional midnight snack – together. _Every_ one. And now… I haven't even seen her out of uniform. While we were waiting for _Voyager_ to come "save" us, I watched the transformation take place right before my eyes. I watched Kathryn walk into her room, I heard her struggle to stifle her sobs as she stripped away layers fabric and spackled on layers of Starfleet, and then I watched Captain Janeway emerge – her cheeks tear-stricken but her eyes steeled, cold, guarded. That was the last I saw of Kathryn, the woman I had seen glimpses of before New Earth ever happened, but whom I have yet to see since. The idea that she's lost to me forever is more frightening than the prospect of being stranded in the Delta Quadrant for seventy years. I would do anything to have her back. I'd gladly accept a demotion to crewman, I'd happily spend my life mining borite, hell, I'd even willingly sever off my right—

"Do you want me to program the monkey?" asks Tom, snapping me back into the room.

"Yes," I respond without hesitation.

He casts me a sidelong look at the eagerness in my voice, and I'm at a loss to offer up sound reasoning for the primate's inclusion in the holoprogram. The simple truth is… she loved the primate. _And I love her._ Kathryn said he came to warn her about the plasma storm, and if that's true then he has earned the right to be preserved for eternity. "He was a vital part of her research," I explain with a casual shrug – as if I don't owe my entire life to the damn monkey.

Tom seems to accept this answer and continues his work, his fingers flying skillfully over the panel; inputting data and pausing occasionally to consider the delicate, imaginative weaving of the information he's been given. I feel like he must be able to _see_ the trees, the soil, the flailing arms of the primate where I only see numbers and cryptograms and impersonal encoding.

I'm impatient to see these numbers spring into existence, but I'm also studying him rather closely; there will be a few additions that need programming which I'm not comfortable sharing with Tom, though his end result would be, no doubt, better than mine. While this whole situation feels like he's encroaching on personal territory, there are some areas, aspects, experiences of our secret life that must remain between her and me, between us and the planet.

A few hours later, but sooner than I was expecting, Tom pushes his chair back from the console and gives his fingers a satisfied crack. "Are you ready?" he asks.

I take a deep breath; I'm not sure if I am, suddenly I'm not sure if I even want to see the planet again, but I suppose I am now obligated to see his work, to thank him for the time and skill he put into making my memories manifest themselves.

"Yes, Mr. Paris. Boot it up."

He gives me a sharp nod and presses another series of buttons.

In a strange, life-affirming, brilliant moment of transcendence… our world flickers into life.

The Starfleet-issue modular shelter (grey on the outside, beige on the inside), the tall trees, the smattering of shrubbery framing the campsite, the abundance of those rose-esque peach-colored flowers she loved so much. I can hear the sound of the river flowing in the distance, the delightful chirps of the avian life surrounding us. I know it's in my head; but I can taste the air – it's cool, crisp and carries with it her scent, drifting on the wind and consuming my body, my mind, my spirit.

It's perfect.

I was expecting to feel cold, torn apart, broken – but I am instead hit with a rush of warmth, joy, peace. I realize instantly, in a sparkling moment of clarity, that _this_ is what we're supposed to take away from our time on the planet; not sorrow, regret, anger, self-pity – any of the dozens of negative emotions we have let consume us for the past two weeks. This planet gave us a gift; we found something here that we might otherwise have never discovered, and it is up to us to nurture it, to keep it alive, in whatever form it must now take on.

Perhaps our physical relationship was abandoned – deserted, out of necessity, along with her tomatoes – but we're left with that which survives; the bond we forged in the woods, in the dark sanctuary we carved out for ourselves. The universe took our hearts and tied them together, and I will forever be tethered to her. I will follow her wherever she may lead, and I will do so with a happy heart. I made resolutions to her here – _there_ – and I am now, more than ever, determined to uphold them.

I almost allow my eyes to well before I remember Tom is standing at my side, staring at me expectantly, waiting for my reaction. I push down the rising tide within me and look at him, and before I have a chance to say anything he smiles; he must see the gratitude shining in my eyes. This is probably the first time in two weeks that my eyes have read anything at all; they have been dim as of late. Empty. I'm certain of this, because I can see the same lifelessness reflected back at me in hers – in the rare, precious moments we allow our eyes to meet.

"Thank you, Tom," I say, though he will never know the gift he has given me. "It's perfect."

"Of course, Commander," he replies, clearly proud of himself. "I'll shut it down and save it—"

I step forward, raising a hand to stop him. "No… No, I have a few more things to work in to it. But thank you. I owe you one."

I can tell he is about to protest, about to insist he continue to offer me his aid – but something makes him stop short, and he simply nods in acceptance. "Well, your life is already mine… so, I'm not sure how much more you could owe me," he says with a grin. "But I'll remember that."

I chuckle as he walks out the door, leaving me alone with my planet. I sit down at the console and pull out another PADD, the one with the holoimages of everything _else_ and begin to program them in. The bathtub. The vase of those peach flowers she always kept on the table. The Talaxian tomatoes she planted. The boat I had already begun building, a few meters into the woods, next to the river. I program in all the personal touches I gave to our home, taking extra care when I come to the image of the sand painting she made herself; the one that (she claims) is of a path in a forest. At first, it looked to me like a snake in a cornfield, but somehow, now, I can see the trees surrounding the winding road… as if I'm suddenly looking at it through her eyes. I also think I understand better the words she asked me to inscribe under it:

_In the middle of the journey of our life_ _  
I found myself astray in a dark wood_ _  
where the straight road had been lost._

When I am finally done, I wander timidly into the scene. I run my hand over the wooden bathtub, remembering with vivid clarity the first time she caught me staring at her bare, porcelain skin. I walk into the shelter, pausing to look at the table we took refuge under, where I held her for the first time. At my desk, where I told her a made-up ancient legend. Next to the window, where our lips finally met in a vibrant display of fireworks. I pay my respects to each "first" we experienced here; from the first breakfast she burned to the first time she told me she loves me… to the first time I showed her exactly how much I love her.

I remember the firsts as clearly as I remember the lasts.

Before I have a chance to stop myself, I settle onto the bed she asked me build for us. I pull the blanket up around me and allow myself a moment of weakness, a moment to let the rising tide overflow – and I weep. I weep for what could have been as much as for what is. I empty out all of my anguish and turmoil; I let it pour out of my eyes in a steady river of tears. I drain my reservoirs of grief, and as I do I feel a wave of content rush in to fill the void left behind.

By the time my last tear falls, I've been completely washed, cleansed – born anew. I'm ready to make my peace, to say good-bye to New Earth and to greet with determined optimism the future… and all the challenges, triumphs, and gifts it will bring us. Our spirits have been marred, but tonight I've scrubbed away the blemishes and I can almost – almost – feel my candle flaring up again, stimulated by the wind of the planet, by the wind of change.

There's just one problem; my fire no longer belongs to me.

I turn and look at my project one last time before I lock it and shut it down, saving it. One day, perhaps, she'll want to come here. Maybe in weeks, months, years… we'll revisit this place and not feel even the smallest kernel of sadness; we'll thank this planet for what it gave us, not admonish it for what it took from us. As I watch the planet flash into blackness, the room turn into a grid of holo-emitters – a harsh reminder of just how far away we are from that place – I feel only the warmth, joy, and peace I felt when it first came to life.

Almost without conscious thought, I head straight to her quarters.

I'm there moments later, and before my mind can catch up with my body, I hurriedly press the chime.

There's no answer, so I press it again.

_She's not hiding from me tonight._

The doors swoosh open and she squints at me, wrapped in her delicate, silky peach robe – the color of those flowers she loved so much. Her hair is a mess and a mixture of disdain and confusion has washed over her features.

"Commander? What's wrong?" she asks, a small tinge of worry in her voice. For this one, precious moment… she's looking at me, her eyes completely unguarded, and I am utterly captivated by her beauty.

I swallow hard. "We need to talk."

Her eyes narrow. "Do you know what time it is?"

I open my mouth to speak, but I'm suddenly acutely aware of just how _unaware_ of the time I am. I can't even remember when I started working on my project.

She lets out an exasperated sigh and steps aside, ushering me in. "It's 0300 hours, Chakotay."

I grimace, but it's too late now – I'm already here, I've already woken her up. Neither of us can go to sleep without having worked through this… detachment that has settled over us. She moves to the replicator and makes two cups of coffee, one black, one with cream and sugar. She doesn't ask if I want one or how I like it; she just makes it. It's that level of familiarity that I love, that I crave so much.

She starts towards the couch, then stops herself and sets the cups on the table. The couch is too intimate, I'm sure she's thinking – and she wants to remain in control. I'm fine with this. I will now, I will always, concede to her whatever control she deems necessary. I pull out a chair and sit down, my hands calmly folded in front of me, hers wrapped around her cup. She's staring into it as if it's telling her something; something easier to hear than what I have to say. She's clearly yielded the floor to me, and so I begin.

"I miss you," I say simply.

Her head snaps up. "Chakotay…" she mumbles in an attempt to deflect me. "We can't…"

"We can't what?" I press, this overpowering need to be bound to her morphing into confidence within me. "What can't we do?"

She pushes her chair from the table but doesn't stand. "We can't allow ourselves go back to where we were."

"On the planet," I say, nodding in agreement. "But before New Earth? Before New Earth we were friends. Now we're barely co-workers."

"It's just… I need time to—"

"To bury your feelings?"

She shrugs and nods. "Yes, I suppose. You know how I feel about you, Chakotay… those feelings don't vanish overnight."

_They don't vanish at all_, I think. I will always love her, I'm as sure of it as I am about gravity. I shake my head and look at her. "I don't need you in my bed, Kathryn," I say. Her face crumbles at the sound of her name; it's been two weeks since she's heard it. "But I do need you. I can't survive without you. You're a part of me… and I feel like my lungs have been ripped from my chest."

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but I remain calm, collected; I've already cried all of mine, and I can handle hers, too, if she'd let me. But instead she looks away, attempting to hide her pain, and I continue. "I never finished telling you the end of that ancient legend."

She meets my eyes again. "You didn't?"

I smile at the hope in her voice. "No. I forgot the most important part: 'and they all lived happily ever after.'"

She scoffs and draws back. "This is hardly a fairy tale, Chakotay."

"Oh, I don't know. I think you make a pretty convincing princess."

A shadow of a smile sweeps across her face and she sighs. "So, what do we do?" she asks earnestly.

I stand up and make my way around the table, and she stands up to match me. I take both of her hands in mine and we both tremble slightly at the familiar feeling that erupts within us. "We don't withdraw from each other," I begin.

She nods slowly, considering. "We don't stop eating dinner," she adds.

I smile down at her. "We don't stop escorting each other to holodeck parties."

"We don't stop drinking coffee in my ready room." Her eyes twinkle, and I can almost see her candle spark.

I bring her hands up to my chest, to my heart. "We don't stop being us."

Her eyes brighten at the weight of my words, and water rises in their crystal blue depths – though she makes no attempt to hide them from me. "I missed you, too," she whispers.

Before I understand her movements, her arms have wrapped around me, encircling me. I reciprocate the action and my body envelops hers completely as I pull her to me tightly.

In a blinding flash of passion, love, acceptance, friendship, loyalty, devotion – our fires ignite with an explosion of heat. The room, the ship, the _universe_ glow with the light shining from within our spirits.

Our candles.

The feeling is powerful and it is all-consuming; I feel the wick burning, I feel the heat consume me, as if my veins had frozen over and with one simple touch she's given my life back to me.

Illuminated my mind, set ablaze my heart.

I am sure of one more thing, besides my love for her and the existence of gravity:

I am sure that our candles may flicker and they may dim, but they will never again burn out.


End file.
